There’s the rubble,
in chalky gray and white,
when all of us are gone.
The names of leaders, thinkers, and doers,
and the armies of unseen heroes;
chemical traces of nature and industry, and
the infinite thoughts that came and went and
dissolved into the atmosphere.
Words and sounds and images and structures
that meant something once, something more,
ages ago, but they all seem so strange now,
so foreign, distant, and ancient.
And say this page made it there
because maybe a building collapsed
in just the right way, I’d hope for it to be
taken with more than a grain of salt,
and wouldn’t want it to say too much,
not much at all, except maybe to provide
instructions for turning it into a